Happy birthday to Myron โMikeโ Ranney. Sgt Ranney was one of the leaders of the mutiny against Herbert Sobel. He was demoted and transferred out of Easy but rejoined the company just before D-Day. He was awarded a Bronze Star for his actions at Brecourt Manor. He made the jump into Holland but in October 1944 while cleaning his pistol he accidentally shot himself in the leg. This removed him from further active service in the war
It was his grandson who asked if he was a hero. To which he replied, โno, but I served in a company of themโ. Mike Ranney passed away in 1988
ARGHH I just read possessive speirs head cannons and ugh HIM , he just loves reader so much and he would also be ehm.. the worst panty thief EVERR , just stealing them from reader and Using them when they canโt be together hehehe,
however seriously you write him so WELLL
Canโt wait for the speirs smut
iโm so glad you liked it! i really like your idea of the whole thief thing, i might incorporate it into my spiers smut๐๐๐
a/n: this is a short one, folks. Here's a little note on my use of German in this fic: I will definitely use certain terms if they have historical importance, but I will explain them at the end of the chapter text each time (this way you might even learn something isn't that fun? xd). Conversations that take place solely between Germans will be written in English but if there's someone (hint: Rosie) present who doesn't speak German the conversation will be written in German so that you, the dear reader can relate to his experience a bit more. I will however give translations of what is said, fo course. Oh! And I have no idea how one testifies in a trail like that or at all, so I kept it vague/wrote it in a way that fits my purposes. Sorry for any inaccuracies.
---
When had she started questioning her leadership's ideals?
Always, never.
The Nazis had had so many ideas, so many stupid, hateful, dangerous ideals and Ida hardly agreed with a single one of them. She didn't hate the Jewish, she didn't think that they actually needed all that much Lebensraum im Osten* and she strongly disliked that, after the initial feminist successes after the War, they were now pushed back into the kitchen.
At first, Ida had just lived with the fact that she didn't much liked the government of her country; in 1933 she hadn't even been old enough to vote yet and somehow she had thought that everything would resolve itself by the time she would be an active participant in the democracy of her country. By the time she was allowed to vote, there were no elections in Germany any more. These changes were so quick and drastic that they should have knocked the air out of her lungs but somehow, everything stayed mostly the same for her either way. She went to school, she drank tea with her friends and then she started to work and life went on as it always had, apart from a small, gnawing feeling in the back of her mind that something was very, very wrong. Mostly however, she ignored it. Ida had things to do, money to make and anyway, life wasn't bad yet.
Still, somewhere along the line Ida had woken up. It was the complete opposite of waking up with a jolt from a nightmare, only to be relieved be the fact that it had all been a dream; rather she felt as if she had been ripped out of her daydream and plunged into a nightmare.
---
1932
"It's just ridiculous to put the blame for everything that goes wrong on the Jews", Ida said, "it's so childish, like Joseph always blaming teachers for his bad grades instead of accepting that he's just lazy and doesn't study enough."
The boy in question threw a wayward chestnut at her and missed. "Shut up."
"Of course not every minor inconvenience is there fault", Karl interjected, "but you have to admit that something's just off about them."
"Something's off about you. And it's the fact that you are an asshole."
---
"They were never my leadership," she said simply, "I never accepted them as my leadership." It was enough; at the end of the day her own ideas and motivation wasn't important, they just cared for what she had to tell them about others.
She told him about how she had gotten to steal information, after he asked.
"I was approached by a man after work one day. He, or they, his organization, must have kept an eye on me for a while, to feel as if they could safely do so. He was careful at first, testing the waters. When it became clear that we were both on the same page, he told me what he wanted from me, informed me about the risks. I accepted. We would meet and he'd tell me what kind of information they needed and I would get it for him. Sometimes I'd tell him about plans he hadn't even heard about yet. And somehow all that information landed on your desk. The Allies' desk, that is."
Rosenthal nodded along. "What was his name?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" Rosenthal sounded surprised at that.
"No, do you?"
Rosenthal shook his head. "No, we don't. The networks were mostly kept secret, the individual members didn't even know the full names of the people they worked with, to prevent them from passing that information along in case they were arrested." He paused then for a second and studied her, as if she was a puzzle with more pieces missing than present. "So your risked your life for that man but you had no idea who he was?"
"I didn't risk my life for him. I risked my life for what was right." There was nothing more to say about that, so they went on with his questions.
Her testimony was easy in the end, simple. Rosenthal read out a list of the crimes Hoffman had committed and asked her if she could testify that he had in fact done all these things. Crimes against humanity, major war crimes... easily confirmed.
Rosenthal already had the vague outline of her testimony pre-written it seemed, something which didn't surprise her very much. This was a fair trail sure, fairer than anything the Nazis ever did, but at the end of the day the Allies knew what they wanted to hear from her and she was going to give it to them. As she spoke, Rosenthal tipped along. The secretary in her found it almost excruciating to watch, the way he used only two things to do so, how slowly they crept over the keys.
After critically watching his progress, she spoke up about it. "You know, I could do that for you. I was a secretary for years, I would be much faster."
Rosenthal hesitated for a while; she was sure that there was some sort of protocol against letting the witness use his typewriter, but the protocol didn't seem too strict on that matter. Or maybe he was just hungry and wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, because he pushed the typewriter over to her and let her finish the statement. Ida's fingers flew over the keys with the practiced easy of a skilled piano player delivering a simple scale.
She gave information she thought the Americans didn't know, but most of it they were already aware of it and someone of it was simply irrelevant. After completing her testimony, she handed the typewriter back to Rosenthal, who added a few things before deeming it complete. The only thing left was signing the piece of paper Rosenthal pushed towards her and Ida was allowed to leave.
They left the room together and he shook her hand again once they were outside in the cold hall. Not that she minded the breath of cool air; it had been stuffy in the room and it was scolding hot outside.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Ernst", he told her and he sounded sincere.
"Anything to help." 'Get them', she wanted to tell him, 'make them pay.' But it sounded ridiculous to her own eyes and if he was charged with talking to her, he certainly wasn't necessarily a big shot. And anyway, that was most likely already his intention.
"Auf Wiedersehen", he told her, the way he butchered the german words almost endearing.
"Good bye."
Ida had thought that she would feel something, once she had given the testimony, feel free of an invisible burden on her shoulders or at least as if she had done something to help. Instead she felt nothing, only a vague short of relief of having gotten done with it.
*Lebensraum im Osten: German concept of expansion especially in Central and Easter Europe, the initial motivation for WW2
Summary: In 1946 Rosie comes to Germany to prosecute high-ranking Nazi officials during the Nuremberg Trails. In 1946 Ida testifies against the people who she worked for for years, the people who she stole secrets from for almost all of that time. In 1946 they meet for the first time.
One
Word Count: 1.4K
a/n:This is, first and foremost, a work of fiction. While I base a lot of what I write on real historical facts and try to represent the time as accurately as possible, it still remains a silly, self-indulgent fanfiction about my favorite pilot guy and does not hold any historical merit. A whole lot of this is going to be set in Nazi-Germany, so topics such as Antisemitism and the Holocaust will come up later on. Furthermore, despite most of this taking place after the events of Masters of the Air and being based on (parts) or the real Robert Rosenthal's life, my fic is based solely on the character in the show (which I, of course, do not own). But honestly, since nobody seems to know anything about what the actual Robert Rosenthal did during the Nuremberg trials (I wasn't even able to find out what exactly his job was, what I do know is that he interrogated Hermann Gรถring.) Klaus Hoffman, who you will meet later in this fanfiction, was however not a real Nazi (at least not from what I know, both his first and last name are common enough in Germany, especially at that time, that there is a high chance of there having been a Klaus Hoffman in the Nazi Party. However, the one I will be writing about is a fictional character who I made up). The reason for this is that I simply did not want to write about a real Nazi, at least not to the degree that I will about Klaus Hoffman. Since Robert Rosenthal persecuted members of the high command of the Luftwaffe, this is the branch in which I will place Klaus Hoffman.
Mai 1945
She had trusted him with her life for nearly five years and she still didn't know his name.
He pressed a folded piece of paper into her hand, once white but now slightly gray like everything in the country, covered by a thin layer of dust and misery.
"What is that?" She asked skeptically.
"You're get out of jail free card. Told you I'd pay you back."
He had already sauntered off, hands in the pockets of his worn through trousers, by the time she had fully unfolded the note, which was indeed as he had so nicely put it a 'get out of jail free' card. An account of what she had done during the war to help the allied effort, what she had risked. Signed with a name she had never heard before and stamped with a a symbol she had never seen before, but somehow she knew that neither of them -name or stamp- belong to him.
She didn't call after him to ask who he was and she never saw him again but the letter was real and it saved her from a whole lot of trouble.
---
July, 1946
Ida was sitting uncomfortably stiffly in her chair, back as straight as that of a soldier walking in formation, sweaty hands lying palms down on her thighs, like those of an obedient school girl, and the side of her shoes pressed together were they stood on the cold floor of the interrogation room. She told herself that she had no reason to be anxious; she was innocent after all, more so in fact. She had resisted, had risked her life to sabotage the Nazi regime and she could wield that folded piece of paper she had recieved more than a year ago in front of the Americans like a shield. And yet, she couldn't help but worry that if she said something wrong, she would be locked up in the Zellengefรคngnis*, right alongside the other german witnesses.
She had no notes, no files, no piece of paper, nothing to cling onto but the fabric of her skirt and the knowledge that she was innocent. Up until then she had been alone in the room, looking at the table and the empty chair in front of her, trying hard not to fidget. But now, the door opened behind her and someone stepped into the room. Ida didn't turn around but she could feel the nape of her neck start to tingle while the door fell shut and footsteps sounded behind her. She could see him first out of the corner of her eyes and then, fully, as he walked around the table. The first thing Ida noticed was how breathtakingly handsome he was. He had dark curls and the most intense blue eyes Ida had ever seen and she lived in a country that was almost fetishistically obsessed with blue eyes. She assumed that he had been a soldier of some kind during the war, like most Americans she met here, but he didn't carry himself with the strictness of one. Not that he seemed unprofessional, not in the least, but there appeared to be a certain warmth to him, something like a barely there smile in his walk, which almost made her relax her own posture. He was strangely comforting, in a way that men of his height and attractiveness rarely were, and he hadn't even opened his mouth yet. He offered her his hand to shake and she accepted, his skin feeling warm and rough beneath hers, her fingers eternally cold. Ida discreetly wiped her right hand on her skirt, stood up and shook his hand; it felt big and warm against her fingers, cold from nerves.
"My name is Robert Rosenthal", he told her as they shook hands. The hand shake was short and he didn't pressed, didn't try to squeeze all the life of her hand like many men liked to do at first, an intimidation tactic she was all too family with. He motioned for her to take her seat and they sat down opposite from each other.
"Ida Maria Ernst", she introduced herself, despite him surely knowing who she was.
"Miss Ernst", he began, after sorting through a bunch of papers, for which she envied him, "I have been told that you speak english very well and will be able to deliver your statement without a translator, is that correct?"
"Correct", she confirmed.
"Alright, then let's get started. First of all, I'd like to clarify that you are not on trial."
Ida bit back the 'I sure hope so' which sat at the very tip of the tongue and waited for him to get to his point.
"But, your cooperation would be much appreciated and we ask you not to withhold any information from us, no matter how frivolous it might seem to you."
To Ida, this sounded like 'you are not on trail but you will be and if you don't tell us what we want to hear your privileges are being revoked, you little Nazi bitch' but she just nodded and said: "Understood."
"Good. I'll now confirm some of your personal data, it's a routine check to make sure we have everything correct and in order. You were born on the 11th of November here in Nuremberg, right?"
---
1918
Two things of almost equal important things happened on the 11th of November 1918. Firstly, the german Wiffenstillstandskommission** signed a treat of armistice in the woods of Compiรจgne near Paris, officially ending the Great War. Secondly, in a hospital in Nuremberg, Bavaria, Josefa Ernst gave birth to her second child and first daughter. The war worn woman pressed her mouth to the top of the little girl's head, her hair soft and slightly damp beneath her mother's lips, and whispered: "Mein kleines Friedensmรคdchen."***
---
Once they had gotten through Ida's background, her parents, her siblings (all dead by now), her marital status (not married) and the amount of children she had (none), the real fun started.
"And how did you come to work for Hoffman?" Rosenthal asked her and unscrewed his pen which he let hover of the blank sheet in front of him. It reminded Ida oddly of herself, how she had sat, poised during meetings, ready to jot down everything important.
---
"Mein Name is Ida und das bedeutet Arbeit", she told herself as she set the table, the fine silver ware glittering in the dim candle light.
"Mon nom est Ida et ca signifie travail", she told her dictionary as she bend over it, numbers and letter blurring in front of her eyes.
"My name", she let her type writer spell out, "is Ida and it means work."
Her name had other meaning as as well (virgin - which she was but didn't feel particularly inclined to having that define her -; wise woman - she certainly didn't feel wise -; and even fight but that wasn't befitting for her mother's child of peace) but she had picked this one. And working she did. Like almost all of her friends, Ida left school at sixteen. But that didn't mean that her education was over and she was now going to lie back and wait for a dashing young SS-officer to sweep her of her feet. Firstly, because she strongly disliked the SS and secondly because she did not plan on becoming a little house wife just yet. Instead, she took a seemingly never ending amount of courses - stenography, type writing and correspondence - and had continued her studies of english and french. In 1937, she was spit into the world of secretaries and found herself in need of a job. Lucky for her, there were plenty and even luckier for her, she landed on at the Reichsluftfahrtministerium, which did not only come with more money than the secretaries at a dentist's office made but it also earned her more respect than such a position and Ida reviled in being respected. Nobody needed to know that her job wasn't very different at all from that what of someone working for a dentist (all she did was answer phone calls and arrange meetings) but the point wasn't what she was doing but who she was doing it for.
She rattled down her story, told him only that which he needed to know, exactly that which he most have already known, since she had given those details when she first got involved in the trails. School, courses, her first year. It was the good german story of a good german girl who did good german things for her country. Up until-
" And when did you first start questioning the ideals of your leadership?"
Elizabeth 'Lizzie' Forrester forgets all about being mad at her little brother running of to bother the mechanics when she meets one of those said mechanics - who just so happens to be the cutest boy she has ever had the pleasure of laying her eyes on.
Word count: 1.9 k
A/N: this is a silly little feel good fic I wrote mostly for myself tbh. Kenny is such a little sweetheart, he deserves a sweetheart of his own. Naturally, this is based on the character from the show (which I obviously don't own).
Lizzie was furious and that rightfully so. She had been charged with looking after her little brother Sammy, specifically with keeping him from going down to the air base again, but she had looked away for one single second and now he was gone, presumably down to the airfield. Good Lord. He had promised her that he was just going to go play outside and she had just wanted to finish the chapter of the book she was reading and if that one chapter had turned into five then really, nobody needed to know. More importantly, she should be able to trust him not to lie to her and do as he was told - so none of this was her fault.
That boy was going to drive her insane sooner or later and then she really couldn't be held accountable for her actions. Currently she was stomping across town and the fields, her anger boosting her speed considerably, until she could see the first airplanes peeking out between the trees and the tall grass. Lizzie would have been there already if she could have taken her bike but she had, idiotically, sold her bike to one of the smaller Air Force men a year ago. Her mistake had been accepting the price he had offered, which had been generous at the time for sure, bless him, but now that there was about triple the amount of people at Thorpe Abbots the prices had risen considerably. It was a good thing she didn't have the money to invest in the stock market, she wouldn't be very successful.
There he was, the little scoundrel - Jesus, when had she become her own grandmother? She had turned eighteen recently, not eighty. "Samuel Forester", she called across the short distance between them, "what on earth are you doing there?"
"Helping Kenny!"
"That was a rhetorical question, you menace", she said, knowing fully well that her brother had no clue what a rhetorical question was, "mother told you that you are not to bother the americans! And what do you do? You go and bother the americans!"
"He's not bothering anyone", someone interjected. The person behind the voice was partially hidden by the wing of the air plane he was currently working on. The airplanes - that much Lizzie knew - were called B-17s, flying fortresses. Sammy did not shut up about them but she hardly listened to the things he babbled about anyway so this was about the only thing she had picked up.
"See? Kenny says it's alright", Sammy insisted and gave her an expression which could only be described as a shit eating grin. No twelve year old who could hardly spell his own name had any business looking this smug, especially no twelve year old who was going to get whopped across the head once they got home, that was for sure.
"It's nice that Kenny says that, did I miss the part where he was responsible for you? You better listen to what mother tells you." This boy was going to drive her mad. Her mother had good reason for not wanting him on the air field; it was dangerous and if he messed anything up, accidentally destroyed any equipment it could have real consequences for not only him.
This Ken fellow stepped out from behind the airplane now, wiping his forehead, which did little but leave a smudge of oil right beneath his curls. He was... cute to say the least. All the more reason not to let her little brother bother him. Lizzie's cheeks turned slightly red
"It's really not a big deal, miss", he told her, "your brother and his friend help us all the time besides, we like having them here." Ken ruffled her brother's hair affectionately and the gesture was so sweet that Lizzie almost forgot the middle of his statement over it. Almost.
"Oh, all the time, is that it? You've been coming here all the time despite mother saying you shouldn't?" If she had been acting like this when she was her age, her parents would have had her hanged, drawn and quartered. Or at least send her to bed without desert for three months straight, which was basically the same anyway. But, due to nutritional shortages - thank you Germans - there was never any desert anyway, so that wasn't really a threat they could use anymore. "You are impossible." She didn't want to sound like a whiny, no-fun spoil sort but she had been trusted with keeping Sammy safe and at home, so that's what she was going to do.
She was mad at Sammy - for defying her orders (she sounded like some sort of demolishing general and she felt like it too) - and for embarrassing her in front of Kenny, who was just the cutest boy she had ever seen.
"But Ken said it's okay", Sammy said and blinked up at her with big round eyes, which nearly made her fold on the spot, "Billy's mom just lets him come, she knows it's not dangerous at all."
"The boys don't get in the way and we like the company. They are much more fun than all those rusty old officers", Ken confirmed. His comment towards the officers might have been pointy but his tone betrayed nothing but the highest respect for them.
"Fine", she relented, "you can stay. But the second you get in the way you go straight home, do you hear me? And you won't tell mother about this."
"Thank you", Sammy said and threw his arms around her. Not to express his gratitude and affection though, of course, don't let him fool you, but to leave an oil stain on her nice blue dress. Before she could retaliate, he ran over to the other mechanic, who didn't seem much older than her either. Why did the ground crew which her brother decided to bother have to be made almost exclusively out of cute boys? Lord help her.
"Your brother is a sweet kid, he really isn't in the way much. I like him", Kenny told her.
"You don't have to live with him, of course you think that." But he was right, even if she didn't feel like admitting it. If she looked past her annoyance she could see that he was just a young boy, curious about the world and the things around him and she couldn't fault him for that. If she had known that the mechanics around these parts were so cute, she might have come here more often herself.
He chuckled. "That might be true." Then he held out his hand for her to shake. "I'm Ken Lemmons, by the way. I haven't introduced myself yet and I can't have you thinking we Americans all have horrible manners. That's just the pilots."
Lizzie took his hand, his palm rough and warm against his, and gave him the slightest press. "I'm-"
"Lizzie, I know", he interrupted, "Sammy talks a lot about you."
"I bet he's always complaining how I'm no fun and boring."
"Eh", Kenny said and gave her a slightly sheepish look, "I'd like to tell you that you are wrong and he only talks about how wonderful you are but that'd be a lie."
"I know it. Little bastard."
He shot her an amused look. "Don't get me wrong, I really like talking to you and all but I need to get back to work. The pilots never even try to get these sweethearts back in good shape."
"Of course", she hurried to say, "I didn't mean to keep you. I'll just... take a stroll until it's time for me and Sammy to get back home." Her reasoning was this; with the time it took her to walk all the way back home, sheโd have to walk right back the minute she had reached their front door, so she might as well stay.
---
"It's late", Ken noticed, about half an hour afterwards, when she had returned from her walk along the runway and back, and it was. It had been late afternoon when Lizzie had tracked Sammy down, the sun standing at that perfect angle where it showed straight into your eyes, and now it was getting dark.
"We should be getting home before my mother sends out a search party for us", Lizzie agreed, "she's going to rip me a new one for coming home so late."
"I could drive you", Ken told her, "I can use the jeep."
Lizzie's cheeks grew warm as she imagined all the things she and Ken could do in the desolate stretch between the air fields and her village if they were in that jeep. But her brother was going to be there as well and besides, he was only trying to be friendly. Which meant that she just had to try and turn him down (at least one time she had to protest, everything else was just rude). "You really don't have to", she told him while praying to God that he would just ignore her, "I'm sure you're busy and I don't want to impose on you..."
Ken made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "It's really not a big deal. Besides, this one here", he pulled Sammy into a very gentle and very playful headlock which had Lizzie almost envious of her little brother, "helped me so much that I'm done much earlier." She was pretty sure that this was just a blatant lie but it was so sweet of him that she didn't call him out on it.
Lizzie beat her brother to the front seat, who seemed less than pleased about that and spent the drive home giving Ken directions and trying not to be too obvious in her staring. He drove smoothly, she noticed, not with the reckless speed she had seen many of the American pilots use throughout town, driving so carelessly that it was up to you to jump out of their way or get run over. She liked that about him, enjoyed the calm of both his driving and the superficial, but pleasant, conversation they were having. What stopped the ride from being about the most amazing thing she had ever experienced was the presence of her little brother in the backside, who did not seem to understand that this was a private conversation taking place between two adults and that his additions were not wanted.
Ken dropped them off just at the beginning of their street (Lizzie had considered it smarter to not let their mother see him - she wanted to avoid all unnecessary probing about where the two had spent their afternoon) and Sammy hopped out of the jeep with the energy of a young rabbit. Lizzie was significantly slower to get out and hesitated shortly when she stood next to the car. She had the almost irresistible urge to walk around to his side and press a kiss to his cheek, or maybe his lips, but she restrained herself.
"Thank you, again. That was really kind of you."
"No big deal, it was my pleasure. And Lizzie? I mean it. Your brother can come around any time. You too, if you want, of course", he promised her.
"I'll keep that in mind." She turned on her heel and made her way down the street, where Sammy was waiting for her halfway to their door. Lizzie was aware that she hadn't heard the motor of the jeep starting again, so Ken must still be watching them.
She stopped at the gate of their home, turned and waved at him; he waved back and then turned the key in the ignition and drove off.
Recently I havenโt seen any new fanfics or one shots about the band of brothers series of hbo, and I thought why not write them myself?
~ basic info about me ๐
I go by Nath, Iโm 19 years old so please donโt come at me. Iโm Hispanic! If you noticed a lack of vocabulary or misspelled words on my writing itโs totally normal then.
I will take requests if they ever arriveโฆ I donโt promise excellent writings because I never wrote anything for a blog like tumblr.
I will write about fem reader a lot because itโs what Iโm comfortable withโฆ sorry ๐.
SOMEWHERE IN NORMANDYโฆ @airbornearchives - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
